Illicit
by im.falling.down.the.rabbithole
Summary: Why did it feel so good, being bad?


Branson blamed it on 'The Skirt'.

'The Skirt' was light blue, knee length, soft and flowing, extremely seductive and bought for the sole purpose of distracting him as he drove, of that he was sure. Whenever he glanced up in the mirror he could see her long legs crossed with the soft skin on display for anyone that cared to look. And look they most certainly did. A fierce rage burned in his stomach whenever another man so much as looked at her. Because she was his, even if he couldn't have her. Because she was a Lady and he was just a chauffeur, and there was nothing that anyone could do about that.

Of course, Sybil didn't see it like that.

She took it upon herself to wear 'The Skirt' whenever she went out in the car with him. He couldn't help but look at her. The lust coloured his vision, the fantasies swirling in his head as he drove. He couldn't drive past a deserted forest road without thinking about what he could do to her on the backseat if he stopped in there. He couldn't stop thinking about the noises she would make if he kissed the soft flesh on the inside of her thigh that he could see when she sat in the backseat, if he looked in the mirror at just the right angle.

But he would never, could never act on those fantasies. They were kept locked up tight in his head, because he knew that acting upon them would mean that she would be cast out by society and ostracised by her peers. But he wasn't counting on being left virtually alone with her when her family went up to visit Lady Rosamund.

He was sitting in the small room just off of the garage reading, long after all of the other servants had gone to bed. His shirt was loose, and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. A few strands of hair fell in his eyes as he read, the golden strands picked out by the soft candlelight. According to Lord Grantham, Lady Sybil was ill and was not to be disturbed by anyone (with the exception of Anna, who was to care for her). So you can imagine his surprise when she suddenly appeared in the doorway, wearing only 'The Skirt' and a loose cream blouse. Her chocolate brown curls framed her face, hanging loosely without the usual army of pins.

"Can I come in?" she asked, her blue eyes gazing into his. He felt utterly powerless right now. Resistance would be pointless – of course he would give in to her.

"Uh...I...of course m'lady!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet

She chuckled, her voice filling the small room like warm honey. "It's just us Tom. You can call me Sybil. I think we've reached that point by now, haven't we?"

He smiled. She never failed to make him smile, no matter what. Just being in the same room as her brought a sort of comfort that he hadn't felt before. It was like total bliss. "Yes, I suppose we have."

The smile on her face sent shudders through his body. She really was beautiful. Everyone else noticed Mary, and sure she was striking enough with ivory skin and dark hair. But in his eyes it was Sybil with her passion, her kindness and her innocence, who was the most beautiful of the three.

She had changed him. Before Downton, back in Ireland, there had been plenty of girls. But nothing ever lasted longer than a night. He couldn't even remember their names or their faces. But Sybil was different. She had the inexplicable ability to make him feel so many confusing emotions in one tumultuous strike. Passion, desire, jealousy, protectiveness, sorrow, anguish and...love? Was this love? He couldn't think of another word to describe it.

"What was it you wanted, Sybil?" he asked, looking over to her in the doorway, doing his utmost best to keep his eyes from her legs which were on show for the world to see. He did try to be a gentleman, he honestly did. But she was making it terribly hard.

She shrugged, walking to stand in front of him. "Nothing much. It's just awfully boring upstairs – being alone and having free time isn't all it's cracked up to be. I thought I'd come and find somebody to talk to." Her fingers absent-mindedly travelled to his shoulder, brushing a few specks of dust from his white shirt. The gesture was simple but so intimate at the same time. He knew it was wrong, but it just felt so right.

"I..."

He trailed off, gazing down at her beautiful face. The longing he could feel was burning with such intensity; he didn't know how he was controlling himself right now. The touch of her fingers on his arm felt like it should be searing through his skin but at the same time he didn't want her to stop. He brushed a loose curl from her face and let his fingers trail down her cheek, his calloused thumbs brushing against the smoothness of her face. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. He knew that he shouldn't be doing this, but the look on her face and the longing he could feel emanating from her as well spurred him on. He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to him. Her chest was pushed against his, and he cupped the back of her head with one hand, tilting it upward so that he could kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes to close the distance.

Her lips were soft, much softer than he had imagined in his daydreaming. She tasted sweet, like sugar or chocolate. The first kiss was chaste, innocent even. But it had lit a burning desire somewhere deep inside of him. He _needed_ her, more than he had ever needed anyone before. And as he looked down into her hypnotising blue eyes, darkened with lust, he was sure that she felt exactly the same way. Before he knew what he was doing, he leant in to kiss her again.

The second kiss was heated and passionate. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer to her. One of his hands slipped up underneath her blouse to caress her back, his rough fingertips tracing patterns up her spine. She arched her back, pressing harder against him. A jolt of pleasure shot through his body, and his fingers tightened around her waist. He heard her moan slightly, and he smiled through the kiss. He stepped backwards, pulling her with him, and sat down on the sofa. He pulled her down onto his lap, and she knelt with one knee either side of his waist. He bit his lip. He was being straddled by _Sybil Crawley._ Part of him knew that he should stop. But he didn't think there was any way that he could stop now. She was an addiction, and he wasn't going to give her up easily. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and moved his kisses lower, his mouth caressing the smooth expanse of her neck. She gripped the front of his shirt, her body quivering with pleasure at his touch.

He gently turned her so she was lying back on the sofa and he was kneeling above her. His hand rested on her thigh, underneath her skirt, slowly moving higher and higher. He heard a small mewling sound coming from her, her eyes closed and one hand trailing down to her crotch.

"Are...are you sure Sybil?" If she said yes, there was no turning back. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop unless she said no.

Her soft pink lips drew into a devious smile, and she slid one hand into his trousers, revelling in his reaction. "Of course."

**AN: I was going to put it all into one chapter, but I'm so behind and I can't concentrate! So I'm putting it into chapters. Thank you to WotcherNymphadora, my darling beta. Belle xx**


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